


Option C/A Matter of Taste

by cincoflex



Series: Roger and Hyacinth [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two episodes in Diagon Alley</p>
            </blockquote>





	Option C/A Matter of Taste

Option C

The fat cat wouldn’t leave the skinny kid alone.

Hyacinth watched from a corner of Magical Menagerie as the black and white cauldron on legs waddled around the boy’s ankles, purring loudly even over the other noises in the shop. She tried not to giggle, especially when the boy kept trying to back away.

“Hey! No, I can’t take _you,_ ” the boy insisted. “I don’t even think I can pick you up.”

“Roger, which owl do you want?” the woman next to him asked. “Your father is partial to the Barn here, but I’d _much_ rather you had a Horned, like _I_ did. Which are you going to choose?”

Hyacinth caught the wary look on the boy’s face and understood instantly. The woman smiled, but it didn’t touch her cool gaze, and the man standing by the Barn owl shot her a withering glare.

“Oh honestly Malicia, stop putting the boy on the spot. He’ll take the Barn, of course. They’re better at delivering messages.”

“They‘re _ugly_!” the woman hissed, her smile gone. “My mother and father wouldn’t have them in the house, not _even_ to deliver condolences. Pale disgusting ghost-like things!”

“Oh and Horned are so much prettier are they?” the man shot back under his breath. “You listen to me--Barn owls are _the_ standard for Gringotts and by Merlin’s chin our son will have a Barn _over_ a Horned even if I have to hatch it myself!”

Hyacinth tried not to stare but other people were starting to notice, and the boy bit his lips. At least that’s what she thought at first, but then a weird sound filled the shop, a high piercing note that set her teeth on edge. Certainly the owls noticed, and their shrieks of alarm and flapping wings made a spectacular cacophony for the next few seconds. Patrons scattered, cats hissed, rats hid in panic.

Feathers drifted everywhere and in the middle of it, Hyacinth watched the boy bend down and manfully hoist up the black and white cat into his arms. Completely at bliss now, the cat lolled, big green eyes blinking sleepily. The boy’s mother and father stood disheveled and covered in drifting down, pet fur and feathers as he looked at them innocently.

“This one, please. He, um, protected me.”

Later, Hyacinth passed by him at the register, and took a moment to pet the tubby load in his arms. “Nice whistle,” She murmured, not looking at the boy. The cat purred, patting a paw on Hyacinth’s hand to encourage more petting.

“I have _no_ idea what you mean,” he replied, not looking at her either, but his mouth quirked enough to reveal a dimple on his cheek.

Hyacinth hoped she’d see him again. If only for the cat.

*** *** ***   
A Matter of Taste

He saw the girl again a day later on the patio of Formerly Fortesque’s, sitting by herself, with no fewer than ten ice cream sundaes clustered on her table. Since he had a few minutes before meeting his mother, Roger stopped and looked at the girl, wondering what she was doing.

She wasn’t _eating_ the sundae directly in front of her; that much was clear. Instead, he watched her stick her wand into it, driving it deep into the half-melted ice cream. Astonished, Roger blinked, and made his way closer to the railing, fascinated.

The girl then pulled the wand out again, ran a finger along the now gooey wood, licked the mess off her finger, and mumbled to herself. “Cream, sugar, low-grade chocolate, ah! I _know_ that peppermint!” she wiped her wand off on a napkin and wrote something down on a second one before shoving the sundae back and reaching for another.

Roger could hold back no longer. “What in the name of Musidora Barkwith are you _doing_?” he demanded.

The girl looked up, and seemed to recognize him since she smiled. “Oh, hello again. I’m . . . I guess, yes, this looks a bit . . . odd,” she murmured, as if just seeing the array of treats in front of her, several with wide wand holes in them.

“Ra-ther,” Roger agreed. “Working on a freezing charm?”

“No, I’m deciphering them,” the girl admitted. “By ingredient.”

“Don’t you know what you’ve ordered?” Roger wanted to know. “Just—chocolate or vanilla?”

The girl shot him a stern look. “ _Just_ chocolate? Do you know how many types of chocolate there ARE? I’ll tell you, hundreds, and that’s just for starters! These sundaes are the best that FF offers and they’re . . . mediocre. Oh they start with good countryside cream, and I like their peppermint and caramel blends but they need to stop using the rubbish chocolate and those nasty Stutt syrups!”

Roger blinked. “Er, really?”

She nodded. “Really. I know they’re not up to the late Mr. Fortesque’s standards, rest his soul, but even I could do a better Peppermint Bite than _this_ mess.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and finally the girl smiled, going a little pink. Roger chuckled a bit himself. He glanced up Diagon Alley where his mother was waiting, and looked back. “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

Reluctantly Roger started to turn, but the girl called to him again. “Hey!”

When he turned back, she held out a cone to him. A single scoop of golden vanilla, flecked and glorious.

“Their best,” the girl told him. “Today, anyway.”

And she was right, Roger realized as he savored the treat all the way to the cauldron shop. She was absolutely right.


End file.
